


Tired of that courtly fashion

by Liviapenn



Category: Eroica Yori Ai o Komete | From Eroica with Love
Genre: International Man of Mystery, M/M, POV Outsider, Shenanigans, Spies & Secret Agents, cross-dressing for justice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-01
Updated: 2009-02-01
Packaged: 2017-10-11 07:56:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/110146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liviapenn/pseuds/Liviapenn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes it's hard to be an international man of mystery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tired of that courtly fashion

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to voksen for pre-reading.

> I am a confirmed believer in blessings in disguise. I prefer them undisguised when I myself happen to be the person blessed; in fact, I can scarcely recognize a blessing in disguise except when it is bestowed upon someone else. -- Robert Wilson Lynd

"Coffee, sir?" the air hostess inquires, her throaty voice just audible over the hum of the engines and the quiet chatter of the other passengers. It's a voice that holds a certain promise. Lawrence tilts his head up and gives the girl a slow, charming smile.

The hostess preens a bit under his regard, though she must be used to appreciative masculine glances. She's quite the long cool drink of water, tall and lean, with the brass buttons of her blue jacket straining to keep her breasts confined. She's a blonde, a very strawberry blonde, and her pinned-up hair is topped by a cunning blue hat, fastened down at a saucy, cock-eyed angle. Lawrence thinks it looks rather like a little blue ship, sailing that rough sea of red-gold curls. Ah, such a poetic thought! But a man in Lawrence's position, facing the deadly dangers of his vocation-- living constantly on the knife's edge-- must never allow himself to grow thick-skinned or insensitive. How terrible, should he grow unappreciative of life's thrills, its wonder and its mystery!

The frilly ties of the air hostess' blouse are fastened into a flowery bow at her throat, and for a moment Lawrence allows himself to imagine loosing the knot, unpinning her flattened, fastened-back curls... The air hostess flutters her unnaturally thick eyelashes, and Lawrence remembers to answer her question.

"Yes," he says, then reaches out, resting two fingers on her wrist as she bends over the drinks cart. "Leave room for cream," he says meaningfully, and from the slow, barely repressed smile that thins her painted lips, he can tell that she takes his meaning.

"Sugar?" she says innocently, fussing with the cup and saucer, and Lawrence chuckles.

"Always, love."

Her cool, dry fingers slide over his as she slips the saucer into his hand-- saucy minx!-- and then she leans past Lawrence, bending towards the Major. Major Eberbach is hunched over his newspaper in the window seat, the locked briefcase and his coat stacked in the empty seat between him and Lawrence. He doesn't look up.

The air hostess clears her throat huskily. "Coffee, sir?"

Major Eberbach shakes his head rudely, staring pointedly out the window at the clouds. The air hostess persists; Lawrence admires her professionalism. And her perfume. "Tea, sir?"

"No," Eberbach snaps, still not looking.

"Martini?"

"Nothing, thank you!"

"Extra pillow? Blanket?" the hostess inquires. She puts her hand on the back of Lawrence's seat and leans in a bit further. This, just coincidentally, gives Lawrence an even better view of her breasts, firm and high on her ribcage. "Another newspaper?" she suggests. "Magazine? Fluff your pillow, sir?"

Eberbach finally turns, lifting his chin to stare the air hostess straight in the face. "Nothing," he tells her. "Thank you."

The air hostess smiles and retreats, glancing quickly in Lawrence' direction, as if only now realizing that she's been leaning into him so closely that he could have bent his head and pressed his lips to her neck. Little flirt. She doesn't fool Lawrence, not for a second.

Lawrence raises a knowing eyebrow, and the air hostess' big blue eyes go wide in feigned surprise, an almost comical expression given her dark eyeliner and thick eyelashes; then she winks at him.

"Do enjoy your coffee, sir."

Lawrence doesn't break eye contact, but raises his cup and sips. The air hostess smiles, satisfied, and turns to stroll back up towards the forward compartment.

Intrigued, Lawrence leans slightly into the aisle, watching her walk away. She's just as lovely from this angle, with shapely, muscular calves and long lean thighs. Her buttocks shift and flex intriguingly under the thin, clinging fabric of her uniform miniskirt.

Eberbach grunts disapprovingly from his seat next to the window. Lawrence grins and leans over the empty seat. It's bit awkward with the suitcase and coat between them, but he manages to nudge Eberbach in the ribs, muttering, "Quite an eyeful, eh?"

"What?" Eberbach gives him a blank look. Ha! As if any virile, red-blooded man could've failed to notice the girl's obvious charms.

"Nothing like an air hostess," Lawrence remarks wistfully. "Women of the world, you know. High-spirited fillies, to a female. Adventure, excitement, new experiences... that's what they like, if you know what I mean. And I think you do!"

Eberbach sighs. Lawrence smiles and leans back in his seat, sipping his coffee. It's very good, better than the usual stuff you get on airplanes. He drinks in silence for a while, mulling Eberbach's reaction. Air hostesses must be pretty plain fare compared to what Eberbach's usual sort of dalliance, he supposes. Tragic East German Mata Haris, hard-eyed lady Mossad assassins, Soviet prima ballerinas seduced into defecting to the West by Eberbach's commitment to the ideals of--

A growl from Eberbach makes Lawrence realize he's been narrating all this aloud.

"--Oh," he says, and stops.

Eberbach rises, pushing rudely past Lawrence, and strides towards the front of the plane. Up in front of the little compartment for the cabin crew and the plane's loo, the curtain is half-pulled, not quite hiding the tall blonde hostess from view. She's idly chatting with the other girl, a short redhead with freckles across her nose.

Lawrence is getting tired, oddly so. It must be the sound of the engines at cruising altitude. Always very soothing. He doesn't quite see what happens next, but Eberbach steps behind the half-pulled curtain and then slides the door open to the plane's loo, blocking Lawrence's view briefly. He hears the low rumble of Eberbach's voice, and then the door to the loo slides shut, the sharp click of the latch plainly audible. Lawrence blinks slowly, listing further into the aisle. The blonde is gone; there's just the redhead, standing still and wide-eyed, her pretty mouth open in surprise. A draft shifts the curtain slightly aside, and Lawrence's suspicions are confirmed: the redhead is alone. The blonde is... in the loo. With Eberbach.

Lawrence frowns. Hardly cricket, that! Eberbach knew Lawrence had been eyeing the blonde! Isn't there supposed to be some sort of understanding between men of the world, men like him and Eberbach? Some sort of... of... He can't think of the word right now. Respect, or... something.

Though he supposes it means something-- a clear sign of Major Eberbach's respect for his professional abilities-- that he left Lawrence alone to guard the suitcase.

He's so very tired, though.

Lawrence leans back in his seat with a sigh. _Good_ coffee...

Maybe he'll just close his eyes for a moment.

* * *

Eberbach is still AWOL when Lawrence wakes with a start. The blonde is leaning over him, slipping the cup and saucer gently from his hands.

"Did you have a nice nap, sir?" she inquires solicitously.

Lawrence opens his mouth, then pauses and blinks, fuzzily. Odd, that. He usually wakes like a cat, instantly ready to spring into action! But he's got an absolutely horrid headache.

"Aspirin, sir?" the blonde suggests, innocent as anything, as if butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. Lawrence shakes his head. He glances sideways, but Eberbach is still missing. Tidying himself up after his little midair rendezvous, no doubt.

He glances down, nervously, but the suitcase is still next to him on the unoccupied seat, and to all appearances, it's completely undisturbed. No worries there.

And surely he couldn't have been asleep for longer than a moment. Certainly not more than a moment or two.

Lawrence straightens his tie and looks alertly about him as the blonde moves off. All too soon the chime sounds that heralds the plane's descent, and Eberbach finally emerges from the loo, striding back to his seat.

He looks... undisheveled, but with some indefinable air of...

Of something.

Damn, but Lawrence's head is pounding.

He opens his mouth to ask whether Eberbach enjoyed his encounter with the blonde, but Eberbach's expression is forbidding. More forbidding than usual. Just this once, Lawrence decides that discretion may be the better part of valor.

No need to mention his little cat-nap, either.

* * *

The two air hostesses stand at the front of the plane, each with a white-gloved hand raised to shoulder level, a subtle back-and-forth turn of the wrist substituting for an individual wave goodbye to each passenger. "Thank you for flying with us, have a wonderful day," the redhead chimes. The strawberry blonde echoes her, and their voices overlap. "Goodbye, thank you for flying with us."

Eberbach pushes forward as if to shoulder past them without stopping, but he's forced to pause as the elderly man just in front of him has some trouble raising his suitcase up and over the slight rise of the hatch onto the jetway. The redheaded air hostess hurries to lend assistance, and the woman behind Lawrence shoves forward rudely, sending him crowding forward into Eberbach. The Major has to move forward, and now he's staring the blonde straight in the face.

"Thank you for flying with us," the blonde says. Her voice is cool and entirely impersonal, but her smile is somewhat unsettlingly toothy. "Have a wonderful day, love-- and good luck!"

Lawrence can't see Eberbach's expression, but he watches the man's shoulders stiffen. Eberbach stops and turns to Lawrence, reaching out for the briefcase that Lawrence is carrying, his coat already draped over his arm to half-hide it from casual view. You never know who might be lurking in the concourse, after all. Why, perhaps even Eroica or his men, though Lawrence doesn't think they could have heard about the code transfer quite yet. Still, they'd be pleased as punch to get their hands on this sort of high-security information. But of course that won't happen while Lawrence is on the job!

"What--" he says, trying to turn, but the suitcase is down at his side and his coat is snagged on an armrest. He pulls at it fruitlessly for a moment, and Eberbach tugs at it impatiently from the other direction.

"Sir," the redhead protests, "please, you're blocking the other passengers. If you could just--"

Eberbach ignores her.

"I've had my eye on this suitcase positively the entire time," Lawrence assures him.

Eberbach ignores _him_.

Finally Lawrence gets his coat untangled from the armrest, and the suitcase untangled from his coat. Eberbach grabs it out of his hands, propping the suitcase on the back of a seat and punching the numbers of the combination into the lock.

Behind Lawrence, the rest of the passengers are beginning to fuss and grumble, but one fiery glare from Eberbach quiets the nearest ones, at least.

The suitcase pops open. Klaus stares into it, then turns it sharply at an angle so that Lawrence can see the interior as well. The empty interior. The yellow file folder is gone.

"The entire time, really!" Lawrence insists. The folder must've been gone before they even got on the plane! (There's certainly no other explanation.) Perhaps before they even left the embassy! What diabolical plot must be afoot, Lawrence realizes with a shudder, that they should even have infiltrated the embassy? How high does this conspiracy go? And what trials now lie ahead of Lawrence and Eberbach, two men alone against a dark international plot, no one else in the world they can trust, forced to rely only on each other--

"You fucking idiot!" Eberbach roars, and spins back towards the air hostesses.

The redhead is still standing there, looking awfully confused. The blonde is nowhere to be seen. Lying on the floor next to the redhead's feet are a pair of regulation blue kitten heels, and a little blue hat with a gold winged pin.

Eberbach doesn't waste any more breath on curses. He shoves the empty briefcase into Lawrence's arms and takes off down the jetway, leaving Lawrence behind.

"Oh dear," Lawrence says under his breath. The woman behind him gives him a shove, and he stumbles forward, off the plane.

[end]


End file.
